The Poles Reversed
by Gale
Summary: Enter a world where the fates of two enemies have switched. What would the world be like if it was Mozenrath who came of age poor, the Diamond in the Rough, and Aladdin reached adulthood under Destane's guiding hand? Updated! 8/05/2013
1. The Apothecary

The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction

-Written by Gale-

Please Note Before Reading - _This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta._ While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

That in mind, I'll re-iterate the Alternate Universe part, and explain to you what the basic premise is, if the summary on the mainpage wasn't enough. This is what the world would be like if Aladdin and Mozenrath's places were switched, where Mozenrath grew up poor but heinously lucky, and Aladdin grew up with raw magical abilities and the apprentice of the most feared wizard in the Seven Deserts. I tried to take into account a lot of aspects of their personalities that would remain intact, and also their basic effect on the people, animals, and things around them. This story will start off predominantly about Mozenrath, starting where we first met Aladdin. Don't worry; I intend to bring Aladdin into the picture; you just have to be patient for it. **Also note **that this is _not _intended to be a Mozenrath/Jasmine romance. Call me crazy, but I'm _very_ Aladdin+JasmineOTP. So you'll just have to see how I develop that.

Also! This being the first chapter, I may produce a lot of questions right off the bat. Please refer to the author's notes at the end.

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**Chapter #1: The Apothecary**

"The quality is to your liking?"

Mozenrath curled his lip up at the hulking figure of Hamar, head of the Thieves' Guild hosted in Agrabah's Skull and Dagger. He, himself, was a young thing at around twenty years of age (he'd forgotten his exact birthdate years ago and therefore was not certain), fair and faintly thin under the coverings of somewhat respectable robes for a man of his profession. He pinched a few leaves of the asphodel between his long fingers and lifted it to his nose to smell it. It was a wonder he could get an aroma with how his host reeked, but that could only verify its potency. He examined each of the other offerings similarly, sometimes not touching or not smelling in instances where doing so could have made him very sick, and when finally satisfied, he drew a pouch of dinars from his robes and lay them on the table. "I will take the asphodel and the mandrake root," he said. He knew there would be little objection; it was not as though he could transport everything right now.

"All of it?"

"Yes."

Hamar eyed the pouch skeptically. "Both are imported from the West," he informed him, and Mozenrath snorted at the man's assumption that he did not know. However, given his youth, it was probably easy to think that he might not be as well-rounded as his mentor before him.

"I am aware of this," Mozenrath returned, the picture of calm, "and you should find the amount I've given to be sufficient for the amount of the product sold."

Hamar's hand found a blade on his belt, and he brandished it menacingly. "No tricks."

Mozenrath held up his hands as though to ward off the very stench of him. "No tricks. Feel free to count if you do not believe me. Honor among thieves, remember?"

"_You _are not a thief, boy," hissed the larger man.

He paused, realizing the man had a point. He wasn't a thief, not anymore -- no matter what Rasoul and Fajuul insisted. The Captain of the Guard and his lackey were constantly about the shop these days, now that poor Rashid had finally passed. They were content to ignore him while there was an adult to look over his shoulder and keep an eye on what he did. With that bit of security gone, though it'd been nearly eight years since the last time he even picked a pocket (ignoring the fact that he'd always been better at _talking _people out of their money than just taking it), the two were back to eyeing him like the street-rat they continued to believe he was. Rashid had always told him that he was blessed, and given that most homeless boys his age were known to die in the streets, often handless, Mozenrath was inclined to agree. The constant presence of the guards merely reminded him not to assume that even gifts of good fortune could not be without their price.

Truth be told, though, he was also too stubborn to let go of his present course.

"Very well, then," he retracted, "you will have to take my word as an upstanding citizen."

Hamar laughed and scooped up the money. "What kind of upstanding citizen would do business with the Thieves' Guild?" he sneered.

Mozenrath shrugged. It was Hamar's problem if he couldn't accept a promise at face value. Mozenrath, on the other hand, took his promises very seriously, and was known to show his ire when that single creed was affronted. Rashid had always told him his temper was his worst quality, but he knew better than to lose it in a place like the Skull and Dagger, no matter how impudent his present counterpart happened to be. He was constantly of the belief that most adults were stupid, and Hamar regularly made a job of proving him right.

"I'm harming no one by making these available to those that know how to use them properly," he said. He was careful not to say 'no one gets hurt', as he could never really trust where Hamar and others like him were getting these things from. He closed the pouches for each of the ingredients he wished to take and quickly tucked them away. While he'd been at this for well over two months, now, and not a single thief had made a move to harm him, he knew better than to linger where he was likely not wanted. "Another fortnight and I will return with a mind to buy more."

"And I'll be waiting with fresh produce for you."

The two shared nods and passed one another. Mozenrath kept his hand on the two pouches he'd taken as he left. Once he made it to more savory territory, he was not at all surprised to find his purse had been lifted. It did not bother him at all. He never took any more money to pick up supplies than what he felt the goods were worth, anyway. It'd become a habit of his, really, and a tip Rashid had given to him early on. Drive a hard bargain up front, ask for more product for less money than you actually want, and allow the rest to be taken if his compatriots had the nimble fingers for it. The thieves were more apt to do business peacefully if they believed they could pull the wool over their customers' eyes.

A few well-chosen twists, turns and shortcuts, and Mozenrath found himself once again standing before his present home. The building was sizeable, though certainly not one of the larger ones; its mass comfortably held his stores and a loft on the second floor for him to inhabit. It did not lay on as busy a road as the main avenue leading up to the Palace, where the Marketplace lay, but the place was bustling in its own right. Where the Marketplace's main source of business was food and other goods such as fabric and jewelry, this street was best for the traveling performers, musicians, and illusionists. Though he'd grown up with a the cold dirty floors of alleyways and rooftops to call his bed for the night, he'd spent so long under a single roof, now, that the noise often woke him early with the coming crowd. It wasn't something he complained about, really, as he liked to get to work as early as possible.

He was mostly grateful for his fortune -- that Rashid, having been fast enough to catch a young, undernourished Mozenrath with his hand in his pocket, had seen what he called 'potential' in the boy, and thought him smart enough to take him in and give him the education he needed. He'd really been the first person to ever trust him, and Mozenrath would not admit that the man had been infinitely patient with him as well. Now that he was gone, however, he sometimes wanted nothing more than to just leave Agrabah and ignore the obligations the man had left him. Mozenrath often told himself that he was too young to have the well-being of every citizen resting on his shoulders, and such a job required someone who cared enough.

However, like the idiot he was, he had promised to keep the business going. All good fortune had its price, he told himself. If it meant that he might have to feel a little restless time and again, then so be it. He could have still been on the streets, or worse, in the dungeons.

Shaking his head to himself, he escaped into the shade of his home, the scent of fresh cut herbs invading his senses almost immediately. Mozenrath sighed with exhilaration and let the curtain separating his home from the outside world fall behind him.

A familiar skeek and titter caught his glance just in time for him to hold his arm out. Abu landed on his wrist neatly and climbed his way up to his shoulder, using his nimble tail as a support for balance and coiling it around Mozenrath's limb tightly until he reached his destination, where it replaced itself around the back of his neck.

Mozenrath noted the piece of fruit the monkey carried in one of his paws, but only when he began nibbling on it. As he did not recall purchasing that particular type, he could only assume that the hairy little thief stole it -- a good reason why he never took the animal with him to do business. He would have made Hamar and the others most uncomfortable.

With an odd smile, Mozenrath reached up and stroked the fur on the monkey's neck and shoulders with the ends of his fingers, an motion the animal returned gratefully with a nuzzle.

"Get it?" the cappuchin asked between mouthfuls.

"Yes." Mozenrath produced the two pouches and handed them to the monkey. Abu shoved the rest of the fruit into his mouth and took them in his arms. "Tuck them away in the usual place, please." He honestly had no idea where that was, but waited patiently as the animal scampered off to do as he asked. Abu was more adept at nicking and hiding things than any human being could be, so it was only natural that Mozenrath trusted him to conceal any illegal herbs and potions he might be stashing away for special sales.

He passed the time until Abu's return by gathering together a few bottles he'd set aside the night before. Omar, one of the venders at the bazaar, came to him the day before with a request for medicines for his wife. As Mozenrath recalled, she was expecting again, which explained the nature of the elixirs that her husband requested and paid for. They would have to be taken to him today.

"Done!" Abu exclaimed as he landed on the counter next to him. Normally, his sudden appearances could startle Mozenrath if his mind was elsewhere; however, at this particular moment, something entirely more distracting had his attention than just his work.

Mozenrath noted the shuffling of feet under the curtain leading out. He shushed his companion. "Customers," he whispered conspiratorially. "Remember, monkeys don't talk."

The last part was said with a wink, as it'd become a ritual phrase for the two of them over the years; he made a point to say it whenever they was company upon them. As far as Mozenrath knew, however, Abu never spoke the way he did before they came into one another's lives. Rashid tried to explain it to him once, called Abu his Familiar. He knew Rashid practiced minimally, but outside of the making of medicines and potions, Mozenrath never considered himself terribly mystically inclined, though the subject fascinated him to no end.

It did not please Mozenrath in the slightest that his earlier thought of the Captain of the Guard, with the shift of a curtain, had gone from simple reminiscing to a prophecy in disguise.

Rasoul had to duck and sidestep for the doorway to admit him, and Fazuul was not so lucky. His bulk fully met the ends of the doorway on both sides, and it took a few seconds for him to pass through. The end result remained the same, and the two guards came to a stop just before the counter. Though Mozenrath could hardly see past them to the street outside, he was sure a few others waited for them there. He made a point to keep his eyes on his work for as long as was humanely possible, only rewarding his full gaze to them at the sound of an impatient clearing of the throat by the Captain of the Guard.

"You're late this week," he offered boredly, realizing it'd been a full eight days since their last visit. They were usually so much more punctual.

"Things have been busy, street rat," said Rasoul.

"Yes, I've heard. How many suitors in the palace in the last month or so? Seems as though enough for each day, wouldn't you say?"

While Fazuul began to count them off on his fingers, Rasoul was not so easily deterred from his need to put Mozenrath in his place. "And you would do well to remember that you're not of great enough importance to override _everything _that happens in this city."

Mozenrath offered a sour smile. Despite the fact that the captain's over enunciation of every other word produced an odd slaver of spittle on the man's chin that begged laughter, the boy wouldn't be stupid enough to openly invite the giant dunderhead's anger. "It gladdens me to know that I've earned at least semi-regular visits, then," he said smoothly. "Now, is there anything I can do for the two of you this morning? While I'm certainly not above aiding the servants of our esteemed Ruler in matters of peacekeeping, I do have a great deal to take care of today --"

"Yes, yes, you're very busy," the Captain of the Guard sneered, and already he was poking about at the jars lining all the shelves. "Rumor has it that you've brought in a new shipment recently."

"Yes, fresh spices and herbs brought in from the traders," he returned, hardly missing a beat. He knew the man was referring to the things he'd just made Abu stash away, and in his own way of showing this, he languidly stroked the animal perched on his shoulder. "The more important things are finally back in season again, so the quality is much better --"

"You _know _what I am referring to."

Mozenrath shrugged. "I am afraid I don't, but if you suspect foul play, Rasoul, feel free to have a look around." He gestured at the room around him, then set to crushing some herbs. "In the meantime, however, I would appreciate it if you would keep the noise to a dull roar; I have an order to finish, still."

Rasoul glowered at the boy, nostrils flaring with their usual indignation. Mozenrath was reminded again that the man too strongly resembled an ox. The image would have been perfect if he could have offered the man some greens to chew on without getting his nose punched through to the back of his head. Lucky as he happened to be, he wasn't stupid.

He kept an eye on the two as they browsed the shop and even paused in his work to allow them behind the counter, confident that whatever they were looking for would not be found. He had to silently appreciate how serious the two were about their work, in the sense that Rasoul would randomly snatch up something he thought looked suspicious, thinking he'd caught Mozenrath in the act, only to discover, to his displeasure, that he was wrong. Again. No matter how many times the result came out the same, he kept doing it, and that was fine for Mozenrath. It wasn't as though he had much else to entertain him.

As always, though, the fun ended all too soon, and coming up empty handed, Rasoul barked at Fazuul to follow him and made his exit. Mozenrath shook his head almost sadly. Right side or not, he took pride in knowing the Captain of the Guard would likely always be too stupid to catch him in the act of -- well, _anything._

Abu mimicked his gesture, removing his fez to add to the image of tragedy, and Mozenrath smirked. "You didn't lift anything else in the Marketplace but that fruit, did you?" he asked.

The monkey had the nerve to look shocked. "Who, _me?_"

"No more," he said, and sighed as an afterthought; how many times had they had this discussion before? "At least not for a while; I don't buy food so that you can go nicking your own, and I'm not speaking for you the next time Omar catches you." Yes, the same discussion, word for word. Mozenrath felt more like he kept at it out of habit. He never really cared -- not really. Rashid did, and that was how the habit got started in the first place.

Like always, Abu did his best to look contrite, then bounded to the top of one of the shelves, likely to get a few bites out of some of the other things he took. It was rare when the capuchin took just one thing, after all. Mozenrath didn't bother to chase after him over it; he learned years ago that doing that just never worked.

The next time his doorstep was darkened, he had considerably less warning than when the guards arrived. The tall man swept in, fine cloak billowing about him dramatically. Abu screeched and vacated his perch when it was invaded by the visitor's constant companion, a red parrot. Mozenrath found the monkey once again occupying his shoulder and neck before the man even reached the counter.

The Grand Vizier, Jafar, was an immeasurably thin man, though most of his bony frame was hidden cleverly under the layers of bulky cloth that covered him -- all save for his face and hands, of course, whose fingers were so long and thin that Mozenrath often wondered if the man was not simply death warmed over. He often shied from contact with the man at all costs (not that a man of his stature would lower himself to touch a commoner), partly fearing his touch would be dry and cold, and that under all of the silks and jewels, he truly _was _a corpse.

He was a regular customer, of course, though that fact was not known to anyone but the two of them and their animal accomplices. Mozenrath supposed that when the man required items of a less than savory nature, it was less demeaning for him to ask the local apothecary than it would have been to try walking into the Thieves' Bazaar. As he'd learned in times when Rashid was still the maintainer of the stores, Jafar was a light practitioner of the arts, much like Rashid, himself. Rumor was that he was the son of the Grand Vizier before him, and on and on. The Sultans had long forgotten about the rumored secret passages and chambers in the Palace, and these were secrets that Jafar's line supposedly continued to carry and use to their advantage. Among the less oblivious in Agrabah, it was a well known rumor that Jafar controlled more palace affairs than the Sultan, himself, so the idea of his knowing the place like the back of his hand was more than likely.

It was lucky, Mozenrath supposed, that he'd chosen to restock his secret stores today of all days. Jafar made up most of his profit in that area.

The Grand Vizier's thin eyes surveyed the dim expanse of the room with some repugnance before finally falling on the boy, himself. He grunted to himself, then smirked. "You have what I ordered."

"Acquired this morning." Mozenrath glanced at Abu, who climbed down off of his shoulder and disappeared from the room. He kept an eye on the man's bird, who wisely did not move from his place atop the shelf, and from that place seemed to be serving as a lookout near the door. This sort of exchange took place regularly, but Mozenrath always felt wary enough not to trust the bird or its owner. To date, though, it'd never followed Abu, so he knew the location of his more expensive items were kept safe and secret.

"How efficient," Jafar said, hissing the last word past his teeth. Mozenrath almost expected a forked tongue to emerge. "I have to say, you have been holding things up rather well since your Master's passing. I am to assume your interests remain unwavering?"

"You are correct," Mozenrath replied. He felt a brush on his leg, telling him Abu had returned with what he required and was now deftly placing the pouches on the shelf under the counter. "Though the arts remain a minimal extension of my work, as always."

"A pity. I'm sure you could amount to a great deal with time and patience."

"Your confidence is appreciated, Your Excellency," he said, somewhat tightly. He reached under and brought up the pouches, opening each and removing a few leaves and roots from them for Jafar to examine. He never liked the way the man would get to talking about magic, hinting that he knew ways to advance him. Though Mozenrath always felt tempted, he did not fall easily, nor did he completely trust the Grand Vizier enough to make good on his offers.

Understanding that conversation was closed, Jafar leaned forward to scrutinize the mandrake first. The scene was very similar to the display Mozenrath, himself, put on when picking which pieces to buy from Hamar, though there were added flourishes and gestures that Mozenrath supposed were supposed to make Jafar look more professional and knowledgeable. After a long pause, the man decided the sample was to his satisfaction and proceeded to regard the asphodel in a similar manner. He had to reach further across the table to access it, and the drape of his over robe and mantle fell in such a way that something underneath was uncovered, and Mozenrath twitched at a flicker of light that touched his eyes.

Jafar noted his shift and looked up. "Something the matter?"

Mozenrath squinted, realizing the source of the light had been something reflective. The Grand Vizier, seeing what had caught his notice, smiled almost as if he were placating a child and withdrew a mirror from his robes. It was no larger than the palm of his hand, metal framed and wholly unremarkable. What an unusual thing to carry, Mozenrath thought.

"No wise magician travels without one," Jafar said, probably in the hopes of putting off his own superior insight by telling him this.

"Why is that?" Mozenrath asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, many reasons," the man went on casually, appearing pleased at the opportunity to show off. "It wards foul spirits -- the _Evil Eye_, they say -- and is known to come in handy when faced off another magician, as well." Jafar smirked. "But that is a lesson for another day."

"Interesting." In truth, Mozenrath would have appreciated a shorter explanation, and had only been half-paying attention. "I shall bear that in mind." He was never sure what inspired this attention, but Jafar had taken an active role in giving random lectures to him, and had been since he'd come into Rashid's tutelage. It'd annoyed his old master, as well, and Mozenrath had always been cautioned to keep an eye on him.

"I'll take both," Jafar said, dropping a purse on the counter. "I need not remind you that I was never here. My patronage relies solely on that."

"Of course, Your Highness." Mozenrath took the money and slid it over to his side. Though he had a mind to speak, he was sure not to open his mouth until he had it tucked away. "Though you have promised me that you would deal with the guards constantly coming and going."

Jafar's brow raised in a way that could only feign surprise. "I was under the impression that such problems were taken care of. You have my deepest apologies," he said with an exaggeratedly magnanimous nod, "and my promise that this will be rectified."

It was Mozenrath's turn to look scrutinizing, "So long as My Lord bears in mind that if I am discovered, he will have to be named as a buyer."

Jafar's demeanor turned from faux-concerned to foreboding. His eyes seemed to darken, and his hand tightened on the handle of his cane. Mozenrath almost expected to hear the bones of his fingers cracking. The Grand Vizier cocked his head toward the bird, who flew back to his shoulder with a flutter that lift loose feathers drifting in the air in its wake.

"You would do well to remember who you are trying to threaten, Mozenrath," Jafar said coldly. "It is my business that keeps your little establishment from shriveling up and dying. Your Master knew that."

Mozenrath managed an almost pleasant smile, "And I am sure neither of us would want to do anything to damage this arrangement of ours, My Lord."

Jafar watched him, fully scowling, and spoke tightly. "Of course not. Good day, Mozenrath." The parrot on his shoulder _awk!_ed in agreement as he swept his way out into the city beyond.

Abu climbed atop the counter. "Creepy," he squeaked.

Mozenrath nodded in agreement. "I could not have said it better, myself, Abu." His fingers lingered over the sealed bottles he'd prepared for Omar, the ones that still awaited delivery. If he hadn't found the need to go to the Skull and Dagger that morning, they already would have been taken to him. Knowing that he would only find other things to distract him if he waited, he scooped them up. "Come to the Marketplace with me?" he asked his companion. Abu climbed onto his arm. "Paws to yourself, though."

Abu saluted.

"And remember, Monkeys don't talk."

TO BE CONTINUED.

Next Chapter - Mozenrath's life becomes a mite more complicated when he saves a strange young lady from the wrath of fruit vendor, Farouk.

Author's Notes:

1. **About Abu** - Yes, I'm sure some of you were first bothered to see that Mozenrath has him instead of Xerxes. The fact of the matter was that there was no possible way to keep the animals with their canon owners and make it make sense.

2. **Why is Abu Talking?** That's a bit complicated. I ran with the idea of an owner's influence on a familiar. You see it with Jafar, and how advanced Iago's level of speech is. You see it with canon!Aladdin and Abu -- Abu can manage some words in the series. And then with Mozenrath and Xerxes; Mozenrath is a bit more advanced than Aladdin, and therefore his familiar can express fuller thoughts than Abu can. I decided not to switch that part out, as it seems that magical potential has no bearing on how well a person bonds with their familiar. (Jafar is by no means a powerful wizard, for instance.) So, Abu talks better than he did in the series because that's just the kind of influence Mozenrath has on him.

3. **Mozenrath would never do that! **You have to bear in mind that this is an AU, as I did, and I therefore had to take into account how much of Mozenrath's personality was due to his upbringing. I then had to decide what would stay, and what new bits of his personality would be the result of this new life. In later chapters, I hope to show that Mozenrath is still a bit of a bastard at the heart of things, though an oddly scrupulous one, and still very much a brat. He takes the place of the diamond in the rough in this story, but rather than have his status as what hides his worth, like with Aladdin, it's his attitude that conceals most of it. I wanted very much to make Mozenrath his very own person, as opposed to just rewriting the screenplay of the movie and putting his name in place of Aladdin's. I have the story fully outlined, and with hope you'll be seeing more soon. I hope everyone likes the changes.


	2. Too Charitible For His Liking

The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction

-Written by Gale-

Please Note Before Reading - _This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta. _While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

- While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that. 

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**Chapter #2: Too Charitable For His Liking**

"Bless you, young man." Omar cradled the small glass bottles handed him with full knowledge of how precious their contents were.

Mozenrath chanced a benign smile for the praise, one of his hands idly stroking at Abu's tail as a cautionary way of keeping him on his shoulder while they were near the man's merchandise. Omar was a regular customer, often for varied reasons. When his wife had been carrying her first child, it had been Rashid who dispensed medicines and elixirs for her good health and development, and since then, Omar continued to count on him when his services were required -- even for simple things, to cure headaches or sore throats. His loyalty kept his visits constant, even after Rashid's death, and it was a confidence that Mozenrath did his very best to do justice. This meant keeping the monkey away from his melons.

"Before you go," the man shuffled on his feet nervously. The large man was rarely ever unhappy, and to see a full frown on his face, now, one would have to wonder what great misfortune had befallen the world. Needless to say, Mozenrath paused and listened intently. "I require some other things -- if you have anything readily made, that is."

"Certainly," he offered. "What may I bring you?"

Omar glanced around, checking for shoppers who might potentially wander up to his cart and interrupt him. Finding none, he motioned Mozenrath closer. "I need some salve and bandages," he said. Mozenrath raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was for personal discomforts until the man elaborated. "My wife has been tending a couple of children. Poor little souls, no parents. But that's not the point. They were nearly trampled by a visiting dignitary's horse yesterday. He whipped them most viciously." He shook his head, looking disgusted, though he said the last part in almost a whisper, as though fearing he'd be stricken down by Allah, himself, for speaking ill of his betters.

Mozenrath nodded in understanding, and though he was outwardly grim-faced at being told this, another part of him entirely was gladdened to know there were citizens like Omar and his family -- well nourished but never turning a blind eye to the needs of those less fortunate. Rashid always told him that there was little to people like that which could make them unhappy. With as much money as Omar made, Mozenrath knew that his family could easily afford property in the wealthier parts of the city, but he knew for a fact that Omar, his wife and children were settled into a modestly small home in a middle-income area. The young man could not imagine ever being wealthy enough to make such a choice. If Allah were true, then Omar would be well rewarded when his life on earth ended. More should have been like him. The streets of Agrabah were not nearly so kind when Mozenrath was small, and it was luck, to be sure, that he'd not wound up dead, molested or worse. He'd known a few children growing up that were in the same condition, but they were not nearly so fortunate.

"I am nearly out of salve," he admitted, "but I'm a few steps from finishing a new batch. I can have it to you by this evening. Will that be acceptable?"

"Oh, thank you!" Omar exclaimed, relieved. He took one of Mozenrath's thin hands in his own small, pudgy ones. "I will have gathered enough money with my sales today to pay you when you bring it."

The young apothecary shook his head. "No charge, Omar," he said, turning to depart. With the amount of gold he made that day, he could afford not to be paid. At least he could have the opportunity now and again to choose things like this. It wasn't picking between the home he had and a larger one, but choice was always something to be grateful for. "Use your spare money to feed them, won't you?" The man had a woman with child to feed and two of his own young ones besides. He would need all the extra money he could get.

"You are very generous," Omar breathed. "Rashid would have been very proud of you."

Oh, to be sure. Mozenrath made a sour face, careful to have already given his back to the man before doing so. "Thank you." Sweet-natured folk like Omar were a commodity for this city, yes, but the man's happiness always baffled the boy.

Being naturally pessimistic and envious of the successes of others, he often displaced upon others his dislike for the unfairness of his own inability to take advantage of his good fortunes. Surely, Omar's decision to do good with his wealth benefited people who were much like what Mozenrath had once been, so there was a need for people of that caliber. However, he also knew of people who selfishly took advantage of their luck and fortune, and though they were often sightless to the feelings or consideration of others, they were happy as well. And they did not have to feel responsible for anyone but themselves. He had to envy them that, at least. He imagined it was Rashid's fault that he cared at all.

"No one steals from my cart!"

Mozenrath snapped out of his reverie and stopped in the middle of the street, recieving a few bumps from people walking behind him for his trouble. Abu gripped his robes to prevent himself from toppling off his shoulder, and his keeper thankfully moved into a clearer area, nearer to the scuffle he'd heard. Farouk was one of the more grumpy vendors in the Marketplace; his business kept him cared for, but the choice to sell more exotic fruits often chased away a more steady stream of customers. He was a bullying individual, but Mozenrath generally thought his bark to be worse than his bite. He glanced a little boy who hurried past with one such piece of fruit in hand, but realized that whoever had angered Farouk was still near him. He'd caught the arm of a very confused looking young lady in heavy robes, ones that did not appear to fit her all that well.

"I'm sorry sir," she said, laughing nervously. "But I don't have any money."

"_Thief!_" Farouk, hand large enough to engulf her forearm, could drag her to the counter near his cart with hardly a tug.

Mozenrath imagined she'd given the fruit to the little boy that'd run by. He did not have the time to even properly dwell on how stupid that was, as he could already see what Farouk was reaching for with his other hand.

"Please!" the girl insisted. "I-if you let me go to the palace -- I can get some from th-the Sultan!"

She must have been insane. Or she thought Farouk was dumber than she was. Mozenrath surged forward, through the gathering crowd.

Farouk's other hand found the hilt of his sword, and he menacingly brought it to bear. "Do you know what the penalty is for stealing?" Bluff or true threat, it worked. The poor girl shrieked as he pinned her wrist to the countertop, and it was a lucky stroke for the dim-wit that Mozenrath happened to reach the man in time to grab his wrist -- or rather try to. Even with both of his hands, it was quite a feat to accomplish to stop the sword from coming down. He nearly fell on the counter, himself, in his attempt.

Stupid and likely _insane, _though the girl was, she obviously didn't know what she was doing, and there was no point in her losing her hand over it.

Her struggles revealed a jeweled band on her brow, and Mozenrath suddenly understood. She was probably either a visitor from another kingdom -- there were so many lately -- or the spoiled child of one of the wealthier families in the city. _Why is it always the **girls** that pull stuff like this? _he thought.

It took a moment of dumb stillness for Farouk to realize he'd even been stopped. He glowered fully at Mozenrath, face red, and hissed a low "what are you _doing?_" from between his teeth.

Mozenrath felt he was quite breathless, himself. "I -- was buying that for her," he lied. "Let me pay you."

Innocent or not, the strumpet was going to reimburse him as soon as he had her out of sight.

Farouk yanked him up -- or rather yanked his hand back; Mozenrath's just still happened to be attached. He smartly let go as soon as he was on his feet again. "I don't believe you, boy," he said, prodding him in the chest and sending him back a step.

"Believe what you like," Mozenrath said evenly, fastidiously brushing some dust from the front of his robes -- specifically where the man had touched him. "I'll remind you, however, that you are supposed to call the guards when someone steals from you, not carry out their punishment yourself." He jammed a thumb in the direction he'd come from. "I think I saw a few over there; I'm sure they would love to settle this. Let me go get them --"

The disgruntled vendor caught his shoulder, nearly dislodging Abu from his perch. Abu chattered and switched shoulders. If he'd been a cat, Mozenrath felt sure he would have hissed.

"There is no need for that," Farouk said, releasing him with a sigh. "Two dinari, and then you and the little lady may go."

Mozenrath fished the coins out, shooting a glare of his own in the girl's direction as he deposited them in Farouk's open palm. While Abu continued to growl and shake a paw at the retreating merchant, he rounded and caught the girl's hand as he passed her. She did not object to being led away, and he repeatedly shushed her attempts to thank him while they were still in the crowded street. Much to his chagrin, she didn't give up, even as he half-dragged her through an alley and to a quieter avenue.

"Would you --"

"Please, I --"

"I want to --"

"Are you even listening to me?"

He finally let her go when he knew they were out of earshot and rounded on her as he did so. "Are you out of your tiny, pre-menstrual _mind_?" he demanded.

The girl fixed him with a mixed look of confusion and indignation on her face. She blushed furiously, which told him, thankfully, that as dumb as she'd appeared at first glance, at least she realized what she'd done wrong. "I didn't know," she mumbled, finally averting her gaze.

"Ignorance," he snapped, "however abundant in your case, is no excuse!" He found himself wagging a finger at her, and for a moment felt very much like he were standing in his old mentor's shoes, lecturing him about picking pockets. In fact, he was sure Rashid said those very same words to him once. The difference, here, was that he'd been _lying _when he said he didn't know better. Every thief, even the young ones, knew that when you were caught stealing, you lost more than what you were after. All actions had consequences. The fact that the little strumpet didn't understand this -- if she was telling the truth -- meant that her parents were likely too busy spoiling her to teach her anything about respecting the property of others. Or that the gifts they showered her with cost _money. _So, even for a girl, doubly stupid. "Now, I don't know where you are from, or why you're here without your parents, but I think you should go home before someone else takes it upon themselves to tell them what kind of nonsense you've been up to."

The mental image wasn't going away, even if Abu was adding a bit of originality to the scene by attempting to shoo her off with odd tail gestures. Muttering to himself, Mozenrath turned and started away from her.

He wasn't the least bit surprised to hear a belated, if not weak, retort of "Well, I _can't _go home!"

He rolled his eyes as he heard her trail after him. "Then what do you intend to do?"

"I can handle things on my own," she said stubbornly.

Amazing, how well that's apparently worked so far!

"Which is why you're following me, right?" He cocked an eyebrow when he heard her stop, and he glanced back.

She shuffled in place, obviously torn between proving him wrong or keeping at her pace. Her fragile hands clenched on the folds of her robe, and her jaw was clenched in frustration. "If you would stop snapping at me for just one moment, I want to thank you for helping me!"

He waved his hand dismissively, not wanting to show that he was impressed she had the manners to do even that. "It was no trouble. Now, _go home. _I'm certain someone is missing you."

"I told you I can't!" she insisted, catching up to him, now.

He sighed, giving up. "Very well, then. I still do not know why you are following me, though. Feel free to explain, if you're not going to go away."

"It's not as though I really know what else to do."

"Why is that?"

The girl pouted as she appeared to consider her answer -- whether because it was a difficult conclusion to come to or because she was not keen on telling him, he was not sure. "I've only been by myself since this morning."

"Ah," he mused, "so you're under-practiced in the art of striking out on your own. I'll give you a clue: you're _completely_ defeating the purpose by coupling yourself with someone else."

She winced. "Am I really coming off that obvious?"

"Transparent as the wind, I'm afraid," he murmured. "And entertaining as this is, I have work to go home to." He sidestepped away from her and turned down another alley.

"Wait!"

Mozenrath groaned. "What is it?"

"Let me come with you. I can help you if you'll give me a place to stay for now."

He snorted at that, not even bothering to hide his amusement at the idea. "_You_ help _me?_ You can't even function in the Marketplace without coming close to loss of limb; what makes you think you can do anything for me? You don't even know what I do!" He shook his head and moved to push past her. She was lighter than she looked, and lost her footing for her trouble. She landed with a squeak, and Mozenrath furrowed his brow. He hadn't intended to do that, but he doubted she was damaged from the fall. "Go _home,_" he repeated, moving on again.

"I won't complain or argue, and if I can't do something, I'll learn!" The girl scrambled to her feet and hurried ahead of him to bar the way. "Please!"

Mozenrath frowned, feeling his resolve begin to crumble. The girl stared up at him, out of breath and steeled to get in his way again if he tried to pass her. Her eyes were wide, almost afraid, and it occurred to him that if he just left her out here in the streets, she might be too stubborn to do what was good for her, and likely get herself killed.

He shook his head. "You're just a silly child," he said.

"You're not that much older than I am!" she snapped.

At that, he faltered. "Well -- that doesn't count. I'm not the one that almost got his hand cut off."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared flatly at him.

All right, so she wasn't as dumb as he thought she was. She at least knew when she had a point, anyway.

Seeing as how the two of them were likely to just stand there and stare at one another until the sun went down, it was probably a good thing that Abu decided to break it up. He leapt down from Mozenrath's shoulder and wandered up to the girl's feet. She retreated from him, then smiled nervously when she realized he probably wasn't a rabid-attack-monkey, or whatever it was girls thought whenever things smaller than them went near them.

Abu sat up his full height, and tipped his fez to her.

Mozenrath sighed. "Well, he likes you at least." _At least until you pick him up so he can steal that shiny jewel on your headband, _he thought.

The girl smiled, then, and it wasn't at all unpleasant to look at. It wasn't the thankless, dim smile of some of the girls her age he'd seen in passing. She knelt and held out her hand to the monkey. "What do you think? Should he let me come along?" Surprisingly, Abu let her stroke his fur without getting a free grab at food or something sparkly.

Abu nodded, or rather, he bobbed up and down enthusiastically -- and glanced back at Mozenrath with a familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Leave it to the monkey to get a soft spot for a pretty pair of eyes. Furry little traitor.

"See?" she said. "He agrees with me. There's more of us on my side than on yours."

"I'm sorry, but when did this kingdom become a democracy?" he asked. "This isn't Greece, you know."

"Where?"

"Nevermind." He shook his head. "Besides, you're a girl, so unless by some miracle you become Queen, you don't get a say in government anyway. So that means it's my opinion over a monkey's, and since I _feed _the monkey, my vote counts more than his does. You lose."

She probably shouldn't have smiled when he said that, but he supposed it was better than more pouting.

Mozenrath groaned and shook his head. "Fine. You have to work off the two dinari I wasted on you anyway." He bent slightly to allow Abu to climb up his arm, and turned to go. "Follow me."

TO BE CONTINUED.

Author's Notes:

1. The last chapter was just an introduction; with this one, I hope I got across just how different the story is likely to turn with a new character in the place of the original hero. As opposed to Aladdin's first meeting with Jasmine, where he fell for her at first sight and tripped over himself trying to impress her, you've got a Mozenrath reaction -- well, as Mozenrath a reaction as it can be when he's not an Evil Sorcerer ™. I hope you can see why I said this wouldn't be a Mozenrath/Jasmine story.

2. This chapter was originally going to span to the point where the guards show up at the end of the day. However, I decided that 1) 6 pages was enough and 2) I need to develop more on the skeleton of the plot for the day's proceedings, and flesh out the characterization between Mozenrath and Jasmine. We'll see how that goes.


	3. An Apprentice?

-1**The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction**

-Written by Gale-

**Please Note Before Reading - _This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta. _While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.**

- While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

_I apologize for how long it took to update -- parts of this chapter have been written for over a year; I tried, I swear! Once again, this was supposed to lead up to the guards jumping them, but I decided that'd be a lot easier to do if I could skip ahead. More to come, hopefully quicker from now on! Your reviews feed me!_

--

**Chapter #3: An Apprentice?**

It wasn't a long trip back to the Apothecary, and Mozenrath completed the journey without his usual companion on his shoulder. Abu, whom he was still convinced was after the jewel in the girl's hair, had decided to hitch a ride with her instead. Little traitor. He honestly had no idea why he had agreed to bring her home -- whether she owed him two dinars or not. If Abu made off with that bauble she'd have more than paid him off anyway. When he returned to the back room of the shop, however, his brooding over the turncoat monkey had shifted to something else entirely: the salve he'd promised Omar needed a little more preparing than he originally imagined it would.

The girl, whose name for the moment remained unknown and un-asked about, lingered in the doorway leading back to the front of the shop, being just as irritating and useless as he suspected she would be. "May I do something?" she asked as he set to stirring the potion.

He looked at her flatly. "Do what, exactly? Do you even know what this is?" He almost wanted to snap at her for asking, as though he hadn't been thinking before that she would not be any help.

She moved closer to look inside, face squinching in frustration at what she saw. "No," she admitted grudgingly.

The sound of movement in the front room stopped any further scathing remark on his part. Abu left the girl's shoulder to scamper back, and Mozenrath rolled his eyes. "Fine, stir it, and don't let it get lumpy."

"But what is it?" she asked, even as she took his place.

Her questions were going to be the end of him; he knew it, and just as he rounded to tell her that, to threaten to throw her out if she didn't stay off his last nerve, a call from the front reminded him there was a customer waiting. He sighed in exasperation. "Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "No."

Finally. He strode to the doorway, adding a low, "That's right. Now stay here and do as you're told," before passing through the curtain. The customer was a simple one and needed to purchase items that could easily be found in the front -- he was out in a matter of minutes, and for that Mozenrath was thankful -- largely because he was terrified to return to the back room and find the girl had somehow completely failed in the simple task of stirring a potion. He came into the room feeling somewhat surprised. Nothing was set aflame or knocked over, and she did not appear to have fallen asleep on the job. In fact, she was staring intently at her work as though doing her very best not to make a mistake.

While she continued with that (Allah forbid he break her concentration and she wind up magically exploding herself or worse), he set to crushing a few herbs to add to the mixture. Abu assumed a perch on one of the shelves above him, nibbling at one of the little treasures he'd nabbed earlier that morning. It was at this time that Mozenrath realized that the girl had taken her cowl down. He was human, and a man to boot, it was therefore not at all unusual that he took a moment to look, despite his irritation with her entire being up until this point. He'd never been the type of person to think he would ever get it in his head to look for a wife. Yes, he looked -- pretty women were something to appreciate, but he had never fallen in love nor planned to. Rashid told him that he had married when he was much younger, and his wife had passed some years before he met the boy. Though until that point, he had been alone, the man never thought to find another mate. Mozenrath did not feel like he had the patience to put up with a woman long enough to marry her, however.

He shook his head to clear it and went back to what he was doing. The point was that the girl was, indeed, rather pretty, and much better taken care of than he thought. She was well fed, had soft, endearing features -- healthy, just as any rich child would be expected to be. And with how bad an impression she'd made thus far, it figured.

After some time, she appeared much calmer, more at ease with what he'd set her to do, and he wandered over to add the herbs as she stirred, evenly distributing it. "Don't stop yet," he said quietly upon sensing a twitch of hesitation from her, "you're doing fine." The solution coming together beneath her steady hands glistened a pearlesque white; the green and brown snatches of herb, patient and slow, spiraled to the whisking eye at the center, like bits of debris into a cyclone. _Not bad, _Mozenrath thought. He came to stand behind her, reaching around to touch one of her hands. She jumped at the contact, though impressively, she remained determined not to stop the steady rhythm she built. He ignored her reaction, moving that hand to take a stronger grip and taking away the other completely. He placed the rest of the herbs on the counter within reach. "When that's fully blended, use one hand to add more," were his instructions. "Spread it out, don't let it stick to the sides, and keep stirring it in until it's all been used. Do you think you can do that?"

The girl nodded, and satisfied that he could trust her, he left her there to prepare still more ingredients to add in. "Now," more grunding under the mortar and pestle, and not looking back to check her progress, Mozenrath instead began to speak nonchalantly, "I think you should tell me why you ran away from home."

Intermixed with the rather heady aroma of the stirring salve, the tension was palpable. The young apothecary need not even see her; he could practically hear the dilemma rolling about in her head. For a moment he entertained the idea that the answer she was keeping from him might be too horrible for him to have assumed. Were her parents cruel to her -- physically? He shook his head at the thought. She looked healthy and well taken care of, and no one who had been the victim of abuse was that sharp to defend themselves as she was. They might be known to lash, but the attempt was a blind, frantic one, and for all the trouble the girl had caused herself, she maintained a surprisingly amount of cool.

He decided then that he couldn't wait for her to make up a believable story. "Go on, now," he encouraged, turning his head just a little to see her out of the corner of his eye.

She was still stirring, deep brown eyes forced upon her work; she sighed through her nose. "Won't you only send me back, if I tell you?" was her question.

Blinking, he turned fully to look at her. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I'm asking you why you left, not where you ran from. Can't very well send you home if I don't know where to send you, now can I?"

"You could always send for the guard, couldn't you?"

Mozenrath opened his mouth to deliver an emphatic '_yes_', despite that it would have only proven her point. Instead he froze, jaw agape. "The guards are not actually very fond of me," he admitted. "I would be welcoming suspicion if I brought them to you. What -- with you being some missing daughter of some wealthy someone or another, and me being only the lowly apothecary. They might assume I kidnapped you." Realizing his hands had stopped, he turned back and set to grinding again.

"But I could tell them that you didn't."

"Would you? If I turned you in?"

"…Maybe not." She would. He could hear the smile in her voice.

The new mixture finished, Mozenrath rounded to stand opposite her. She seemed prepared for his next move, and he spread the contents in with the rest. Her free hand added more herbs with it; the surface of the salve became a mosaic of color. "Liar," he returned.

The girl laughed, and he felt the corners of his mouth tugging upwards against his will. He blamed it on the lack of human company, but as the two of them worked over the same brew, he realized she was standing in the place he had stood when Rashid had watched over his first lessons, doing exactly what he was doing. His hand, though smaller at the time than hers was now, had shaken much more; he'd been certain his Master could see how nervous he had been. It had been his nature before then to remain one who avoided having eyes upon him, after all. She worked as though she were very much accustomed to it. In truth, he almost envied her for half a moment.

"You know," he began, watching as the new addition thickened the potion considerably enough that she had to return to stirring with both hands for a moment, "you're not half bad for a beginner."

"It's not that hard."

"A little cocky, don't you think?"

Of all the criticisms he could have given her since they met -- including plainly calling her 'stupid' on a number of occasions -- that one seemed to be the first the pulled a true reaction from her. Her brow furrowed, the pace of the stirring suffering a twitch for half a second. For a moment, she looked more like he had when he was younger, more aware that the eyes on her scrutinized. "I'm not trying to be," she admitted contritely. "I'm just a fast learner."

Mozenrath smirked. "I was only teasing. You have a talent, even if you won't tell me why you ran away." The last of the herbs tumbled in and disappeared into the concoction, mingled with it. It impressed that she could so easily just add as she moved; such a thing tended to look very easy, but it really depended on how comfortable the maker happened to be, in making it. "Let it cook on its own for a while."

Abu came down from his vantage point, setting to catching up loose bits of herb and cutting that had been spilled or missed, careful to stay away from the fire. She smiled at his cleverness, but everywhere her hands went to be of some help with the cleanup, he would reach first, forcing her to finally give up.

"Is there anything else that I can do?" she asked. So impatient! Even when she was doing work for him, she found ways to grate! But how much work had he tried to do in the first days, before he realized more got done and left him less exhausted when he took things slowly?

"Just keep an eye on it," he said dismissively, trying to hide his annoyance, both at her and at himself for recognizing it. He turned already to put together the beginnings of yet another project. One might as well make use of the extra pair of hands and try to pull ahead of the orders, after all. "Do you think you can handle that?" He quirked an eyebrow.

The girl sighed. "Do you have to be so mean about everything?"

"The fact that you cannot seem to tell the difference between _firm _and _mean _only confirms how spoiled you are," he muttered, not sounding so observant, as by then he'd become too engrossed in what he was doing to even really think she might have had a point.

"You were telling me what a good job I was doing just a moment ago. But listen, there's -- "

"Yes, and you've obviously gotten a big head over it," he interrupted. "Now, can you quietly do as you're -- "

"I am, and is it supposed to be turning green?"

Mozenrath rounded like a shot. "What?"

Indeed, the potion_ was _turning green. It should have, in fact, been turning a pale lavender. But then --

He cursed to himself. How could he have forgotten --?

"Go back to stirring it. Gently."

She did not question him, earlier objections for the moment forgotten while he prepared one last herb to add to the mix -- one he really should have done first. A soft noise stopped him a moment, and he glanced back, glowering. Was she _laughing _at him? "Yes, yes -- very funny! Just don't mess up the potion while you're getting that out of your system."

TO BE CONTINUED.

* * *

A/N: Yes, this was a long time coming. But you can probably see why it took me so long to get it done. I really struggled with this scene, and I'm still not satisfied with it. However, I promised ya'll an update.


	4. A Secret Between Them

**The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction**

-Written by Gale-

**Please Note Before Reading - _This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta. _While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.**

- While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

--

**Chapter #4: A Secret Between Them**

As a Princess of Agrabah, there were certain things that remained difficult for Jasmine to accept. With an army of tutors at her disposal -- not to mention a menagerie, a library stuffed with scrolls and tomes that could never be completely read in an entire lifetime, and full royal authority to make use of these things – she had never been particularly fond of being called "stupid", because she simply was not. "Ignorant"? Perhaps. She couldn't have possibly hoped to absorb the collective knowledge contained within all of these resources, but much of what she did not know – things she had now come to discover were all things that even those without an education seemed to know – could not be things she would have found in books or would not have been told to her by an instructor.

Her current protector, the moody apothecary called Mozenrath, had gone to enormous lengths since she met him to turn the word "ignorance" to something sour. When he said that, he somehow had the power to make it sound as though he were calling her "stupid", instead. Rather than allow her indignation to get the better of her (_but such disrespect!_), she took this as a time to be challenged. This was what she had been asking for not a day ago.

Certainly, he was rude – even cruel, but she was learning, and the more he scolded her, the more she scolded herself. But she'd complained of never doing anything on her own, and she knew she should not have expected to get everything right the first time. After all, if he hadn't come along, she would be missing one hand, at least.

Jasmine shuddered to think, and that brought her mind back to the present. Cowled again, she followed Mozenrath through the streets, carrying with her a bundle containing bandages and a large sampling of the potion he had shown her how to make earlier. His pet had been left behind -- to "keep watch" on the place, he had said, but she was not certain how a monkey could do that all by itself.

There was no apprehension, being out in the open. Having spent an entire morning in disguise, even in the presence of the guards at times, she felt no real concern that she might be recognized now, and Mozenrath had explained that this trip was very important. Mind, he continued to glance back at her as he led her along, as though he were afraid she might disappear, or drop the cargo. He had only insisted on bringing her, she realized, because he had been afraid to leave her alone in the shop.

"Not that I'm afraid you'd steal anything," he'd had explained, "I think you learned your lesson the first time, but still. Can't be too careful."

…To which she had rather incredulously replied, "You're leaving the _monkey _in charge."

Perhaps he hoped they might pass near where he thought her home might be, and that she might get the idea to go home. True, she could see the great onion domes of the palace looming in the distance, but rather than call her back – back to where things were cleaner, easier, and less threatening – she only felt determination dig its way deeper into her stomach. It gladdened her to know it was not merely pride that kept her in place, but the thought that she _was _enduring, that she wasn't completely lost, or miserable.

Turning a corner, the view of the palace passed behind a building, and Jasmine turned her attention back to the path before her.

What she had not expected to see was for Mozenrath to have been watching her at that exact moment. An odd recognition passed in his cobalt eyes before he quickly looked ahead. Had he seen what she had been watching? Her heart sank. Did he _know_?

Jasmine felt suddenly a little ill, knowing that if he ever found out who she was, he'd treat her differently. Sure, he might have been nicer to her, but probably also more insincere, and she liked that he wasn't afraid to say what he wanted to her. If he did know, would he tell? He had said that the guards did not like him, but hiding a Princess would have been so much worse than harboring the runaway child of a Merchant. Keeping her around, with full knowledge of who and what she was, would have meant a death sentence, and the thought of that made that unhappy pain in her stomach swell intensely.

Certainly, she'd relied on the guards for her protection all of her life, so both sides of this coin were difficult ones to consider: on one hand, it was hard to think of the guards as unfair in their duties, for while they might have impeded her, marshaled the commands that kept her from her freedom, they also made certain she and her father were safe – along with the rest of Agrabah. But on the other hand –

Why did the guards dislike him? Could Mozenrath be a _bad _person? He was shrewd, yes, grumpy to a fault, but was there something about himself that he'd managed to keep hidden from her? Would it go beyond unkind words? Was he going to eventually _hurt _her?

They'd come into a quiet neighborhood. The homes were modest, even compared to those Jasmine had seen thus far, but in the golden glow of mid-afternoon, it felt warm and inviting. Her immediate fears faded to the background, like a whisper in a busy crowd that had fallen too far from the ear. The smells of cooking dinners wafted all up and down the street. Children laughing could be heard, the sounds of mothers calling their little ones home to a fresh meal.

She followed the apothecary to a door, and he rapped the back of his knuckles against the rough wood. "What is this place?" Jasmine whispered.

Mozenrath's gaze met hers again, brief. "The home of a customer," he answered calmly. "Someone was injured in the marketplace – you may see some things that may frighten you, or confuse you, but remember that we're here to help. Don't upset people needlessly."

Jasmine tried to nod, and she wanted to ask what he meant, but the door opening interrupted her.

A large, kind-faced woman stood in the opening, the soft bulge of her stomach promising the near arrival of a baby. She looked tired, but ever concerned, her eyes searching very briefly before resting on the young man, and she all but gasped. "Oh Mozenrath, thank Allah!" she breathed, pushing the door further open as she did. She came past the threshold, and Jasmine watched in awe as the lady threw her arms about the apothecary in welcome, even more surprised when he returned the embrace – a little stiffly, but without any marked hesitation. "Did Omar send you?"

"Yes, I spoke with him this morning," he answered. "And I am sorry it took as long as it did. We came as quickly as time would allow."

"We?" the woman looked past him, then, for the first time noticing Jasmine there. Though alarmed at first, the sweet smile the princess received calmed her heart. "Are the two of you --?"

Quickly, "Nothing like that." Mozenrath's voice had a little laughter in it, but it was subdued, almost accidental. "She is just helping me for the day, Lateefa. But please, where are the children?"

"Yes, right away. Come in, both of you, come in!"

Lateefa led the two of them into the house; it was dark at first, but cozy, much larger than the shop, but it seemed still small compared to the exteriors of other homes they had passed on the way. A child emerged from one of the doorways and tugged at the woman's skirts. "Mama!" he whispered. "They're asleep!"

"Go child," she said quietly back to him. "Play outside, for now, while we take care of them, and see to it that your brother and sister do the same."

"Yes, Mama."

The boy paid little mind to Jasmine as he moved by her, but she noticed that his eye did not leave Mozenrath until both had passed out of sight from one another. It wasn't necessarily a distrusting gesture, rather one of wonder, even comparison -- one boy sizing up the other (and that thought made her smile unexpectedly).

Jasmine followed with him behind their host, who came into an open chamber. A mat had been spread out upon the floor, and there lay two children, a boy and a girl. The boy seemed small as he lay on his stomach, eyes shut – having to be at least a year or two younger than Lateefa's son. The girl was older, much taller, and resting similarly. Some of their clothing had been removed to allow room for binding. Blood seeped through the bandages on their backs, and Jasmine felt one of her hands covering her mouth before she even knew she was doing it. Mozenrath took the bundle from her, then, giving her a moment to compose herself, his reminder to her not to upset anyone remaining solid in her mind. She looked on the little ones with sadness, however, for even she, who had very little experience with such sights, felt as though the dressings seemed old and in need of changing.

Perhaps that was what Mozenrath had meant, about being sorry for their lateness.

"Lateefa, if you would fetch me some water." The woman bustled out of the room while the apothecary knelt beside the girl, whose injuries appeared (by the amount of blood) to be more severe. He lay the bundle next to him quietly, though even the vibration of his approach seemed to have stirred the child. She moved, careful not to make noise, but when her large brown eyes opened and met a stranger near her, not at all the lady who had been caring for her before, Jasmine could see her little hands clench.

Mozenrath placed a palm on the back of the girl's head, gentle but bracing. His face was severe, his eyes impassive, but he whispered to her, quiet enough that Jasmine could barely hear, and for a moment she wondered if it was another language. The child shut her eyes again, seeming to drift back into slumber. With careful hands, Mozenrath set to removing the dried and dirty bandages that had been placed here, revealing under them wicked gashes and welts, and Jasmine winced.

She'd seen a man flogged only once in her lifetime, and that had been some years ago – she had been perhaps nine or ten. Whether it was because her father saw to it she was never present for such things until then, or the mere chance that none had offended the crown so highly that such a public punishment need be dealt, she did not know. He had been a bad person, though, and she had not known most of the details, only things she had heard her father discussing with his advisor, Jafar (both of them unaware of her presence at the time). She remembered the event, itself, like the clinging stains of a nightmare – his screams, the sight of those read tears digging into his skin. Even from a distance she had been able to somewhat see, and her imagination had not made it any less terrifying. She had cried; she remembered that. Her father held her through it, and he had felt so troubled by her reaction that neither she nor he had been present at such a spectacle again, leaving the authority instead to Jafar.

This was different, however. One could not expect to see such marks placed upon the backs of children, who surely could not have done anything so bad as what that man had done. "W-why…?" Jasmine exhaled, tears beginning to stand on her eyes even now. "Who would…?"

Mozenrath unraveled the bundle, not looking up at her as he examined the cuts carefully. "Good, they're not infected," he noted before choosing to reply to her unfinished questions. "I'm told they ran afoul of that dignitary, the one who went to the palace yesterday."

"Prince Achmed?"

"Was that who it was?" even quiet, the sourness in his voice was unmistakable. "It is so encouraging to know that men hoping to curry the favor and earn the hand of the Princess would show such _regard _for the Sultan's people."

Her blood boiled at the thought of that swaggering peacock. He had come to her that day like so many others before him, but unlike some, he had been so deeply conceited. What made her wish that Rajah had 'played' with him a little harder, however, was that story he'd told her father upon arriving, how a child in the street had brought a flower to his horse, and how people had cheered when he thanked them in kind. When really --

"Well, he didn't," Jasmine blurted, anger clearly written on her features, though quickly she knew her mistake, and she covered her mouth again.

Lateefa returned with a bowl of water, and Mozenrath thanked her quietly, asking her to leave them in privacy for now. From her return to her departure, Jasmine felt wound tight like a string on a sitar ready to snap.

"And how do you know that?" he asked.

"I --" Jasmine bit her lip. "I heard people talking about his departure in the Marketplace," she lied. "He seemed angry."

"Is that a fact?" Mozenrath took a cloth from the bundle and set to washing the girl's injuries. Jasmine winced, even only watching she feared he might bear down too hard and cause the child pain, but he worked with such precision that it seemed she never moved, never uttered a sound, and remained completely relaxed. Seeing that, it seemed to the princess almost as though all of the emotion, the concern, the fellow feeling that Mozenrath must have carried in his body never showed on his face only because they were in his hands. She'd never seen a person do things like he did, and for all the stiffness and sarcasm in his facial expression, in his body language, his hands told a different story, that everything done right must be done with care, and with a tenderness that no other part of his body seemed capable of expressing.

No. Mozenrath was not a bad person. There were no more questions of it. Jasmine knelt on the other side, next to the boy. "Let me help."

He nodded, setting the bowl of water between the two of them and handing her another cloth. "Be careful of what you're doing, Pr --"

Jasmine's head shot up at that, and the minute their eyes locked, the word – whatever word he'd been about to say – died on his lips. But for once there was some measure of emotion in his face, in his eyes. Well – not even really emotion, but there was substance, a secret, even.

He knew. How long he'd known, she was not certain, and that dread came back – fear that he would betray her secret or would lie to her to spare her feelings. But that look chased it away. Feeling uncertain what had passed between them, she knew she sensed something from him that felt like the inverse of his earlier contempt.

No betrayal came. "His won't be as bad," he went on, still quiet, now careful _not _to look at her. "But make certain his injuries are cleaned."

The salve came next. He opened one of the jars and spread some on the fingers of his right hand. He placed his left on the back of the girl's neck, at first an assuring touch, but quickly Jasmine saw that it served another purpose. When he touched the solution to the rawness of the child's back, her calm went away. She hissed in pain, biting back on a whimper, and he had to hold her still. Mozenrath glanced at Jasmine, and though shaken, she turned to her task finally, stroking the back of the boy's head to keep him calm as the apothecary made careful work of his sister. He spread the salve over each of the open wounds, even stopping to blow on them as he passed each, then dressed them again in clean bandages.

He helped Jasmine finish with the boy, who being smaller and more easily frightened was a little harder to control when medicine had to be applied. All through it, Mozenrath remained stoic, though without a second pair of hands, the princess could see he would have quickly lost patience with this one, how the child flailed and struggled. The task finally finished, Mozenrath picked himself up and placed some distance between himself and his two patients, catching his breath as he did so -- as though he'd been holding it the entire time. Frustration knit his brow, and Jasmine frowned on seeing him that way.

Needing always to feel useful, Jasmine gathered together the bundle and set it aside, already aware they would be leaving those things for Omar and Lateefa to handle later. She rose, venturing nearer the apothecary, wanting to speak, but quickly beat to the punch as always.

"We'll let them rest for now," Mozenrath said. "I will say our goodbyes to Lateefa, and then we'll return to the store."

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

A/N: I'm taking much longer on building their chemistry than I thought I would, but the fact that I managed to get this chapter out to you less than a day since the last update should be some indication of where my mind is right now. In the next chapter, we'll be climbing back onto a more linear path, closer with the movies.

**Why Jasmine's POV? **I thought it'd be a good idea to give a little bit of her perspective. In the movie, you got a little bit of that in the beginning when she was by herself, so I figured that once in a while she should get a focus, too. I think it balances out the story a little, and I hope I did her some justice.

Just a random note, the name _Lateefa _was chosen from a Baby Name thing, under Muslim names, and it means "kind hearted".


	5. A Friend

**The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction**

-Written by Gale-

**Please Note Before Reading - **_**This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta. **_**While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.**

- While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

--

Chapter #5: A Friend

"Why did you run away?"

Jasmine hadn't expected the question to come up again so soon, especially not on their walk back to the shop, while they were still relatively in the open. Mozenrath stopped ahead of her in the alley and leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed over his chest. She thought to object again, keep her silence, find some way to misdirect him to something else once more, but that look again. Now wasn't really time for lies. He knew. He wasn't saying so, but he did, and she realized that was the point of this. The man wasn't leading her back to the palace, and he spoke nothing of her identity, which meant there was still room for leaving things unsaid.

It was a game she used to play with one of her nurses, in fact, and one she'd become well-practiced in. It was all about not telling the whole truth but not lying, either, and she'd been told it would serve her well even when she was no longer a Princess.

She came to lean against the wall across from him, looking down at her hands in a troubled manner. "My father is forcing me to marry," she admitted, finally.

Mozenrath watched her a long time, neither moving nor speaking, one of his thick eyebrows caught frozen in a quirk. She shifted uneasily, though accustomed to having eyes on her, she had never really suffered under such scrutinous stares, before. "Not fond of the prospective groom?" he remarked finally, lips being the only thing on his face that seemed to move.

The remark, she supposed, was meant to indicate Prince Achmed, her most recent suitor. She made a face. "There isn't one, yet," she admitted, which was partially true; while Achmed had been ejected with creative flair, it was true that Jasmine hadn't favored _any_ of her suitors. "But my father will choose one very soon, whether I am fond of one or not."

"Was your prospective husband not wealthy?"

"Oh, he had money."

"Well connected?"

"He'd have to be."

"Would he be able to support you and any children you bear someday?"

"That's not the p--"

"No -- you are talking about arranged marriages; I think those are all important points that are not to be overlooked."

"And what about love?"

Mozenrath glanced up at her. He wasn't smirking anymore, probably because what he was about to say would be snide enough without it. "I do not know if you realize this, but it is my understanding that people who are arranged to marry do not reach that point until _after_ the marriage, if they do at all."

Jasmine bit her lip.

The apothecary sighed and continued walking with her. "There are more cautionary tales against acting on passion alone than there are against plainly evil things like dishonesty and murder," he went on. "The passions are powerful things, sure, but they're also temporary. They burn out. They diminish. You can't apply them as the sole basis for a marriage, which is something you'll be bound to for the rest of your life."

"That's a rather cynical view on love, don't you think?"

"It's more sensible. I'm not saying you shouldn't love someone, but there should be more there, for a marriage. Can you take care of each other? Could you care for offspring? If it someday stops being about love, will you still be able to tolerate one another's company?"

He had a good point, even if they didn't figure into the equation that the near indefinite riches of royal blood would guarantee care and comfort, and that a vast palace to lose oneself in can prevent uncomfortable encounters. He said this all strangely, though, like it was something he clearly didn't know himself, but it wasn't like something he read from a book. Someone must have told him this very same thing once. He recounted it dutifully.

"If I am not looking for someone I'm in love with, then what?" she asked.

Mozenrath glanced down at her, a morose smile there as he considered. "A friend."

Now, Jasmine had not thought of that, but for good reason. That left her choices open to what? Rajah? "But doesn't that make things -- I don't know -- _awkward_?"

"It depends upon the friend, I guess, and what kind of friend they are. The Greek Philosophers talk about it. Have you heard of Aristotle?" He looked at her a moment and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"I might have!" she said defensively.

"It's not important. My mentor took me to the libraries to read sometimes. One thing he said about real friends, though, is that you have your different types. You have your friendships of convenience, for instance, and then you have your real friends, the ones that are still your friend even after you turn out to be a jerk." He shrugged. "Would that really the worst thing that could happen to you? You spend the rest of your life with a friend like that?"

"I suppose not."

"And mark my words, someone like that would not let you be saddled with someone bad for you, if they had the power to prevent it. They'd save you. But you should keep that in mind when you go home, if more potential husbands come along." Those words made her stomach sink. Jasmine stopped walking and leaned against the wall of a building. Kind as he had been, happy though he had been to accept her help in the day's chores, he was still going to send her back, wasn't he? Mozenrath noticed this and halted a few paces ahead of her, unbothered. "It's not the most conventional idea a woman's ever laid on the table when it comes to marriage, but a lot of times I'm willing to bet these men act like they do because they think it will impress you. Be honest with them, and they might start to drop the act and show you who they really are."

"Kind of like you, you mean?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He blinked at her. Her meaning wasn't lost on him, but it took a moment for him to draw the parallels she made without getting indignant about it. She saw an objection wanting to make its way into the conversation, but in the end he held it back. "Kind of like the both of us." He turned from her, facing the path ahead. "We're not far. Come on."

Jasmine caught up to him. She supposed she was hiding less and less of who she was as she came to trust him, yes, but was he nicer to her now because he felt like he had to be? How much time had there been between him figuring out who she was, and the respect he treated her with now? And which had come first?

Hesitating, she touched his shoulder briefly.

"Are _we_ friends?"

They turned the corner and came out one stall down from his home. He took a few more steps that way, giving him silence to contemplate his answer. "I suppose we could be." He paused briefly, looking around.

"And would _you_ save me, if you could?"

They came to a stop outside the door to the Apothecary, and he stared at her, a little bewildered. "I --" He swallowed. "Well, that is, if I _could, _you see --" Deciding he'd embarrassed himself enough he reached to pull back the curtain and go inside. She stepped in after him, but froze in place.

She saw well before he did that there were people in the room, and even has he was trying to form words he turned and was finally aware.

"Oh, damn it."

Rasoul, her father's Captain of the Guard, caught Mozenrath by the front of the shirt, lifting him slightly. "We just keep running into each other, don't we street rat?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! I have the story outlined so bits have been just sitting waiting for me to address them, but this chapter was especially hard to finish because I had to make that conversation work. From this point we're going to skip past the whole 'reveal' moment. Mozenrath knows who Jasmine is. Jasmine knows who Jasmine is. It will pretty much play out the same way as it did in the movie, with less running.


	6. An Arrangement

**The Poles Reversed - An Alternate Universe Fiction**

-Written by Gale-

**Please Note Before Reading - **_**This is a rough draft and is in need of a beta. **_**While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.**

- While I cannot claim the characters (or even the whole of the basic plot here) as mine, I can call the idea mine. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having fun, and hoping you will, too. I interpret some of the characters in the Aladdin series as I feel they are, and this includes their counterparts in this alternate universe as well. You are welcome to disagree but please do not write off the entire story just because of that.

Chapter #6: An Arrangement

Moonlight poured in from cracks and grates above, casting blue shapes upon the wall ahead. The skitter of animals much smaller than man could be heard, the moans and utterings of still-awake prisoners in other cells a faint echo in the background, phantoms of a half remembered nightmare in which Mozenrath found himself presently sitting. His wrists were bound to the wall above him, making finding a comfortable position difficult to master, as the placing of his arms and the uneven masonry pushed an odd unnatural curve against his spine. Sundown had come many hours ago – too late in the evening, when he was captured, to warrant immediate sentencing probably. Rasoul had simply tossed him in here.

Of course, he also remembered something the Captain of the Guard had said to his companion, quickly revealed, as he had suspected for the latter half of the day, to be none other than Jasmine, crown Princess of Agrabah. Even her commands had not saved him, as Rasoul quickly made clear.

"My orders come from Jafar," he had said.

Mozenrath had come to realize, with a sinking feeling that had not left him since, that perhaps he should have been more careful of his words with the Grand Vizier. The only thing he could hope for was that his stores had remained undiscovered, in which case he might be able to convince Jafar to let him go in exchange for his silence – after he had whatever it was that he wanted from him.

What did the man want, however, that could be said within earshot of the guard that would surely have to let him in? Mozenrath had a reputation. The minute Jafar commanded someone to open the door for him, there would be curiosity, and discretion had forever been part of their dealings in the past.

The young apothecary sucked in a calming breath. He could talk his way out of this. Jafar would want him to keep quiet, right?

_Of course, _said the cynical half of his mind, _they might not need to speak to you at all. You could be looking at the chopping block well before that old snake sticks his neck out for you. _

He swallowed.

No, he couldn't think of that. The palace guards had been years without ever managing to get under his skin; he wasn't about to crumble within earshot _now. _

He thought instead of Jasmine – which only made him a little more anxious, even guilty. She had asked him if he would have saved her, and knowing now that she was the princess only made her request seem all the more sad and desperate. He hoped she understood just how futile it was, that she wasn't so naïve, in spite of everything, to think that he was in any position to help her predicament – or that she, between the two of them, was the one in need of rescuing right now.

It was a shame that somehow the demands of a shrill, entitled royal child could be trumped by the word of an equally shrill, albeit creepy royal vizier. It seemed like she liked him – he wasn't certain _why, _but if it could have gotten him out of this cell, he would not question it, either.

As it was, it happened that an odd skittering sound above his head caught his attention. Not quite the same sound of rats moving about in the dark, capped with a familiar whistling. He craned his head uncomfortably just to get a good look directly upward, and he felt a shock of…surprise? Relief? To see Abu hanging from the bars of a window, high up.

"Hello."

"Tell me that you brought them," he said a little breathlessly.

Leaps and bounds from ledge to rafter to loosening stone soon landed the monkey on the floor beside him, soon rifling through the pockets of his vest for bits of metal that had always come in handy as lock picks. It had been so long since they had actually needed such a thing, that Mozenrath was glad, at least, to know that the right ones hadn't fallen out over time.

Really, Abu was a much smarter creature than most people credited him.

Soon the manacles had given, and the apothecary could lower his arms and try to shake some feeling back into them. "You may have just saved my life," he uttered. The monkey mumbled something about not mentioning it.

Mozenrath sat forward on his knees to look around, then. The window above was too high for him to reach just by standing. If there were enough stones sticking out of the wall for him to climb, that might have been something. His arms were strong enough. But getting through the bars? Another issue entirely. One thing was certain, however: he needed to escape. It would mean trying to salvage what he could from the shop, if he got away without giving too much notice. Afterward he would have to flee the city. Even if he could elude the guards under normal circumstances, he didn't trust Jafar not to have his ways of hunting him down.

He just didn't think, that after nearly a decade working for a living, making something of himself, he was about to become a street rat all over again.

"What now?"

He winced when the last word came out with a particularly high-pitched squeak when Abu spoke, and he shushed him. "Someone will hear you."

"Someone already has."

_That _was not Abu. Mozenrath got to his feet quickly at the sight of an advancing shadow, and it did not take him long to realize he was standing in the presence of the very individual that had demanded his arrest.

Jafar looked down his nose at him, the crooked beginnings of a smirk starting to show at the corners of his mouth. "Getting into trouble a late today, aren't we, Mozenrath?"

The boy apothecary wetted his lips, drawing in a slow breath. He had just been caught out of shackles. His monkey was there. Under normal circumstances this would involve whatever repercussions there happened to be for attempted escape.

These were not normal circumstances. Jafar had heard his companion speak – something he had tried his best to avoid in all the years he'd been associated with the man.

"No clever quips tonight, I see, though it would seem your familiar is full of them."

How it was that the man could _still _be trying to sell him on the notion of learning magic - _here, _of all places, Mozenrath really did not know. "He's _not _my familiar."

"No?" Jafar chuckled. "There's no need to be so defensive when I've come to deliver you from death, my boy. Come."

The old magician stepped away from the wall, holding out his cane which emanated with a soft, red light, and in the shadow Mozenrath could see an open passageway. It did not occur to him until that moment that he hadn't heard Jafar come in – the door to the cell hadn't been opened, and he could hear no guards out there now.

Jafar raised an eyebrow. "Unless you would like to await whatever punishment the guards have in store for you. I needn't even ask them to be gentle."

Mozenrath held his stare, stubbornly, and snapped his fingers at Abu – who alighted to his shoulder with ease. Conceding, he finally stepped out, stopping when he wandered out of range of the light, waiting for Jafar to follow and bring it with him. A torch was lit, and he pressed himself against the wall to let the man pass and lead him onward.

"Come. It's time we had a little _chat_."

Up winding staircases and through hidden corridors – the veins of the very palace – Mozenrath and Abu soon found themselves in what appeared to be a small private library and laboratory. It seemed as though they had been ascending for ages, so despite the lack of windows, they were both quite certain that they must have been somewhere high above the dungeons in which they had begun their journey. But there was something more – the shelves of books, the sinister apparati, the smell of bizarre concoctions that filled the air…if the questionable purchases that Jafar often made from his stores had not been indication enough, there was no denying now that regardless of the man's standing within the kingdom, he was up to a good deal more than simply advising the Sultan.

From atop one of the bookcases, the parrot finally made an appearance.

"Now about your familiar."

"_Not _a-"

"Yes, _yes. _You said that before. However, you and I both heard him speak. A new development, perhaps?" When the boy wouldn't look at him, the Grand Vizier had what he wanted. "No, I'm certain he's been advancing for quite some time. You've been practicing."

"What?" Mozenrath shook his head. "_No. _All I do is make potions. I told you that. I'm not interested in pursuing magic."

"Come off it, boy," Jafar hissed. "I'm not an idiot. A wizard's familiar becomes more intelligent the more his potential has been realized." He gestured toward his own companion. "For instance. Iago? Greet our guest."

The bird seemed to actually roll its eyes, and after a sigh, in spite of his diminutive size, the voice that issued from his beak was rather deep and gravelly. "Hey kid, how's it goin?" Not the most eloquent of greetings, but there was a definite dialect and inflection, suggesting perhaps not the deepest of human intelligence but most definitely wit and personality. As Jafar had said, the sign of a wizard that had pushed their magical potential to its absolute limit. He'd known the bird was smarter than it seemed – having caught Jafar silencing him on a number of occasions, and it was for this reason that Rashid had always cautioned him to keep Abu silent in front of other people.

"Yeah, I figured as much," Mozenrath said snidely. "But I'm telling you the truth. I never took lessons and I didn't train him. He's been like that since I found him." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the nearest wall that he was certain wouldn't slide away on him.

Jafar watched him a long moment, eyes narrowed to slits, but with a grunt he turned from him, robes billowing as he strode toward a nearby desk, where there stood an hourglass, with an impressive blue jewel mounted upon it. Mozenrath felt Abu tense on his shoulder and he reached up to catch his tail just to be certain he didn't try to make a move for it. His touch calmed the monkey, whose tail circled around his wrist assuringly.

"Get to the point, Jafar. Why did you have them bring me here?"

"I wanted a word with you about our recent little discussion." Jafar glanced at him. "It was just your misfortune that you happened to have the recently disappeared Princess in your possession."

"I _didn't _kidnap her," Mozenrath insisted right away. "I found her in the Marketplace and she followed me home." That…really didn't sound any better. "Look, I didn't know who she was; no one outside the palace but the guards could have identified her, and even they had to be told to their faces before they picked up on it!"

The Royal Vizier held up a calming hand to silence him, and his face would have been the picture of magnanimous sympathy if he didn't already resemble an undead snake. "I believe you, and I might have been able to speak for you without arousing suspicion, but it is unfortunate that the guards also happened to search your home after you were arrested."

There was that sinking feeling again. They had to have found his stores. And of course they would have conducted a more thorough search than their usual. They had found the Princess in his company; it provided just cause. Illegal substances on top of kidnapping? Rashid would have been so proud of him.

"What do you want?"

Jafar looked a little surprised at his straightforwardness.

"You wouldn't have brought me up here if there wasn't something you thought I could do for you, and if I don't I know what will happen to me." Mozenrath bit his lip. "So what is it?"

A slow smile that did not reassure him in the least. "I can arrange to get you out of the city, and put you in contact with an…acquaintance of mine, in Getzistan, with considerable financial means for you to settle and make a new life for yourself there. Would this be agreeable?"

Definitely. Which was why he didn't trust it. "…It sounds too good to be true."

"Oh, I'm not giving it to you for free, my boy. It just so happens that I am in possession of a very rare artifact. A key, which opens the way into a cave out in the desert: a cave of _wonders _– filled with more treasure than even an army could carry."

"There's a catch."

"_Naturally. _I myself cannot enter it. If what you say about your lack of tutelage is true, then it is possible that you have a natural fount of magical potential. It makes you what the old sages refer to as a _diamond in the rough. _Those may walk freely within the cave without fear. The deal is: You enter, and fetch for me _one _single item from its treasures, and the rest of the treasure is yours."

Yeah, this wasn't going to blow up in his face. "Maybe"s and "possibly"s were half good news, half "maybe" and "possible" bad news. He just had to hope that, if this wasn't all one huge trick, Jafar was actually right.

"Or I could return you to the dungeon where I found you."

Mozenrath shared a glance with Abu, who could only shrug.

A small chance was better than none at all.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Note: Well, it took more than a year to get this chapter out, and I am going to try to keep my promise to not take this long EVER AGAIN. Finishing college and Graduate School takes a toll on your schedule! So here you are, a sixth chapter, the first since 2009! And to be certain that I don't take so long to get another up, I assure you I'm already hard at work on the next installment.

If you'd like the next chapter to come quickly, review! Nothing encourages me more than input!


	7. Of Windstorms and Wonders

The Poles Reversed

-Written by Gale-

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, but the concept is mine. No profit, just fun. Also, I'm amazed people are still favoriting and watching this story given how many years since I updated. I do keep writing, but then I get stuck. I've been stuck in the same place for a while now, so I decided to find a way to conclude the chapter and get this out to you. Maybe feedback will help get the wheels turning again!

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Chapter #7: Of Windstorms and Wonders

On horseback and through a sudden and unrelenting sandstorm, the journey carried Mozenrath and Jafar into the desert and the latest, coldest hours of the night. Abu had climbed into the younger man's robes for the bulk of the journey to hide from gale and shiver alike, and they might have both lost track of Jafar's familiar had he not – free from the bonds of subterfuge – become more vocal.

"Put one wing outta Agrabah and of _course _the storms hit! Because this isn't _already _the _least convenient time _to be doing this!"

There were short spans in a matter of hours that were blessedly silent and only when Jafar's hissed threats managed to cow the rather talkative and sardonic bird into submission.

"Yeah, like the trip's gonna go any _faster_ in total silence—A'RIGHT ALREADY, I'm shuttin up!"

Mozenrath might have found this obnoxious if now and again Iago did not put to perfect words exactly how he felt. Sometimes he felt Abu shake with more obvious laughter than cold, but he could not hear the creature's voice over the roar of the wind. He knew they were of a similar mind, and a little humor, however poorly placed, offered some respite from what was a completely bleak situation with only the promise of the least trustworthy person in the world to offer some _possible _reward at the end. If there were anywhere to go in short enough time, he would have fled, but he knew that with only enough supplies to get them to this cave and back, any escape attempt would have left him dead and stranded, even with luck on his side.

The weather had cleared only moments ago when Jafar dragged the reigns of his horse and came to a stop, calling for the boy to do the same.

"We're near enough now," he hissed.

"Then why does it look like we're not near anything at all?"

Jafar glanced sidelong at him. "Were you so obstinate toward your _old_ master, I wonder?"

Mozenrath returned the look with equal irritation. "Making you what? My _new _master?"

The nasty smile that appeared there told the boy exactly how Jafar wanted to answer that question.

"You needn't _be _like this. I could teach you a great deal, you realize, and after this, I will—"

When he cut Jafar off, it took him a moment to be surprised at himself. "You can't _teach _me anything that I am interested in learning, _your excellency_." And then it sunk in – perhaps the tiniest twinge of learned guilt that struck him for being rude to one of his betters. Right now they were both doing something illegal, and as he always did in their tiny chats in his storefront, he was taken by his bravado once again. There would be no guilt. Jafar may have had one over on him, but he didn't have to like it.

"So let's be honest, here: You picked me because you couldn't find anyone else." And he might have thought he could get something else out of it. For now though, the apothecary would not linger on it.

"I'm here because I don't have any real choice in the matter, not because I'm the least bit interested in your charity. Let's accept that about ourselves and finish this. Now where is this cave? Or that key you were boasting about?"

The Grand Vizier's face was a mobile contortion of surprise and outrage, two emotions that seemed to never know exactly how to settle onto his features, so they shifted in odd little twitches across an almost liquid canvas. That they ultimately stopped on smug satisfaction left Mozenrath uneasy.

"Ask and you shall receive," Jafar quipped, and he drew two small golden objects from his robes. Abu climbed onto Mozenrath's shoulder to get a better look at the glint his eyes caught in the moonlight, but his master could not immediately decide what they were until they were placed together and burst with light so sudden and powerful that the boy had to wince. "Don't fall behind!" Jafar barked, and as the golden object (now recognized as a fluttering scarab) leapt from his fingers and zipped into the night, he kicked his horse into a canter, and Mozenrath clumsily gave chase, Abu clinging to his neck for dear life.

The scarab left a trail of shimmer in its wake as it weaved between the dunes with untold grace. Though Mozenrath was not a rider by any stretch of the imagination (as this was perhaps the second time he'd ever ridden one), it was not difficult for him to stay within sight of the flying bauble, and the horse seemed more sure-footed with a beacon to follow.

When the insect split into its separate pieces and disappeared into the blackness of a sand dune, Mozenrath barely realized that Jafar had already stopped, and his horse pulled up so suddenly that it nearly threw him. Between the tangle of monkey limbs grasping at his face for safety, the toss of the horse's neck and mane, and his desperate attempts to stay in the saddle, he did not see the mass of blackness rising from the dunes until its features as an immense stone face were plain to everyone else.

The tiger's head that was the Cave of Wonders peered into the night with moons for eyes, and a warm illumination crept past its jaws. Its voice was deep and inhuman, and it rumbled so that Mozenrath felt his heart skip at the vibration.

"Who disturbs my slumber?"

A bony hand grasped Mozenrath's arm and roughly yanked him down from the horse, spilling him and a startled Abu across the sand.

Jafar towered over him impatiently. "Answer it with your name," he said through his teeth, stooping to pull him to his feet.

If the boy were not still attempting to process that a giant stone tiger was speaking to them, he might have taken issue with the rough handling. The Cave waited, its gargantuan maw open wide and waiting.

Why did he have to answer again? He was just the bag man; Jafar was the one with the key. _He _woke it up.

This was all so far outside of his realm of comfort, all part of something he had known from day one he wanted no part in. If he felt anything short of annoyance, it had to have been disappointment in himself for letting it get this far. Was it simply his destiny?

Doubtful.

It had nothing to do with the Princess, he told himself. Jafar had wanted him, and he would have been picked up had she not wandered into his life at all. If he'd left her to be mutilated in the Marketplace, he would still be standing right here, staring down the throat of a beast that should not have even existed (much less had vocal cords).

"My name is Mozenrath..." he managed, his voice turning small on the last syllable when the immense head turned to look down at him directly. A nervous swallow. "Mozenrath," he repeated, clearly.

Thinking of something made of stone having "expressions" unsettled him, but the Cave certainly did. It seemed to raise an eyebrow at him, not with skepticism he hoped. And did it matter? If he failed it would eat him, and if it accepted him, he was going to same place anyhow, right?

"Proceed," it boomed after a time. "Touch nothing but the Lamp."

That caught him. "Wait, nothing _but _the lamp?" Mozenrath shot an accusing look back at Jafar, who at least had the good sense to try to _pretend _to be as surprised as he was. Anything else in the cave, he said? "What are you playing at?" he demanded.

Jafar rolled his eyes. "You cannot touch anything else until the Lamp has been removed. Bring it to me, and I will take care of everything."

"Why do I suspect this is going to end with you getting what you wanted and me getting nothing at all?"

"Because you have very realistic expectations for a boy your age," the older man returned flatly. "You said it yourself: you have no other choice. You may either choose to accept that I intend to reward you, or you may not, but this still ends with you going inside that cave. Now _get on with it._"

"_Fine!_"

Abu climbed back onto Mozenrath's shoulder, his round eyes shining with concern. The boy's own brow knitted with worry, at this situation and everything surrounding it. Could he bring a friend? Jafar did not appear to intend to go inside, himself.

On looking at the monkey's face, and he realized that like the stone face, there was expression there that perhaps should not have been. That was not to say that animals were without feeling, but their emotions and the means they used to communicate them struck Mozenrath as finite and rarely complex.

Not that he was especially experienced in such things.

Perhaps monkeys worried just like people did. Or perhaps Jafar was right, and he and his companion were somehow connected.

...If he was right, then the Cave would recognize them as one entity, wouldn't it?

"One way," Abu chirped, as though answering his thought.

Mozenrath climbed into the mouth of the Cave, its tongue giving way to perfectly carved stairs as his feet touched the interior. He chanced one look back at Jafar. Iago fluttered to his shoulder, the two of them now dim shapes, but he heard a gravelly, almost sarcastic-sounding "We're rootin' for ya, kid!" and grunted with derision.

It was no small feat for him to find that bird somehow more pleasant than his master.

Until he followed the stairs, the apothecary had trouble imagining how a cave of any particular worth or interest could somehow exist in the stomach of a giant stone tiger. He even wondered if perhaps the interior would take the shape of the creature's innards, but when it seemed he had been descending for some minutes, led somehow by lit torches (he doubted anyone was around to light them) toward a more intense light.

Through an archway, at last, he came to a chamber so immense that he completely forgot he was underground. Abu held a long, slow gasp, and he was hard-pressed not to do the same.

It was as though they had entered a desert where the dunes were made not of sand, but instead gold coins and jewels. In the torchlight they winked invitingly, and Mozenrath felt himself taking hold of Abu's tail to keep him in place.

"How are we supposed to find the lamp in all of this?" he asked.

"I can!"

Abu grinned when he shot him an unimpressed look. "Remember, we can't touch anything."

"And monkeys don't talk."

"I don't think that's important right now."

"Right."

For the first time since this whole fiasco began, Mozenrath felt himself smile a little. They had a hopeless task ahead of them, and even though he knew he would have to keep an eye on his friend for the duration to ensure their safety?

Having a friend along at all, and someone to talk to, already made him feel infinitely better.

"Well," he sighed, cracking his knuckles, "we'd better get to work. Is it bad that I hope this takes a long time? Not like – _days _or anything, but give the sun time to come up. Let Jafar sit and bake..."

Abu snickered.

Looking for the lamp entailed wandering from dune to dune and attempting to discern one glob of gold from the next. None were lamp-shaped, unfortunately. Mozenrath kept the small hope that it did not sit atop any of these piles, as it would then be impossible for them to grab. Each time he stopped to examine one pile, he felt Abu's paws tense on his shoulders, as though bracing to pounce.

The jewels were mostly what drew him, bright snatches of reds and greens and purples and blues in a sea of golden oneness. Sometimes, he was uncertain whether it was the jewels themselves that Abu favored, as he had no need to recognize them as valuable, or the colors, but he knew the shine was what it boiled down to in the end. It wasn't a matter of greed or extreme poverty, as it would be for humans given to stealing; Abu just loved all things that sparkled.

Soon the boy found himself tense for another reason, the hold on Abu's tail no tighter, but his other hand clenched at his side, and time and again he glanced back.

He had the sneaking suspicion they were not alone in this place.

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Author's Note: Again, it's good to be back after so long! I hope you're still watching, and I'd adore your feedback!


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